It's Been Some Time
by miloowen
Summary: Will Riker meets the new guy in Xenobiology.


It's Been Some Time

He'd shaken hands with the new head of xenobiology, as the man had stepped off the turbo lift, and he was sure he'd felt a volt of electricity run up his arm. He'd been startled, just a bit, and had thought he'd seen something in the man's eyes, just a brief – a brief acknowledgment that he'd felt it too. He'd shown the man to his quarters, given him his new duty roster, and had turned into the nearest turbo lift for the bridge, his hand still tingling from the touch. Even now, sitting beside the captain, he could still feel the shock of – what was his name again? Lt Commander Bledsoe, that was it – Bledsoe's firm, dry hand against his own, the current running up his arm. Troi had glanced at him, curious, and he'd studiously avoided her eyes; the captain, no fool he, had glanced from one to the other and then had said something to Data at Ops.

He'd gone about his business, finished off his shift, continued to avoid Troi when she'd mentioned something about dinner, and found himself pacing in his quarters. Bledsoe was not a bad-looking man; he was probably around six feet, maybe six-one; his hair was dark with a bit of grey around the temples. He looked as if he worked out, or took his gym time seriously; he might have been five or ten years older. Not the usual type of man he fell for, when he fell for a man at all. It had been at least five years since he'd been with a man, ever since he'd come aboard the Enterprise it felt strange, to have to acknowledge that side of his sexuality, with Deanna present. She'd link it to his past abuse, he was sure of that; and she was the only person, ever, who knew the burden he carried. So even if there had been someone on the _Enterprise_ that he was interested in (oh, and there was, there _so _was someone he was interested in; but that was an impossibility; just an inchoate longing that plagued him in the middle of the night), he wouldn't have acted on it, not with Deanna's perceptiveness – and yet…he could still feel where his hand had tingled.

Well, there was only one thing to do, and that was to go run it off, so he grabbed his gym kit and took the turbo lift to deck twelve. It was nearing the end of beta shift so the gym was all but empty, and he didn't even bother with a locker, just dumped his stuff on the bench and stripped down, grabbing his shorts and pulling them on. He didn't bother to put his t-shirt on; just thrust his feet into his trainers and headed off to the oval track that ran around the circumference of the gym.

As he suspected, there were very few people in the gym at this time; a couple of non-coms on the weights; Vara Liatos was doing her endurance training (she was the ship's top tennis pro), a scattering of young officers on the equipment. Most people at shift change were concerned about a drink and dinner, not working out. It was the perfect time for a run – no one would ask him about anything. He strode out onto the track and began his stretches. When he'd been young he'd given up baseball – too many bad memories – and had found track in seventh – or was it eighth? – grade. He didn't mind cross-country; it was something to do, besides fly, in the early fall before the winter storms descended, but spring was different. He'd started as a sprinter, as so many young boys did, but as he grew taller and leaner and his legs grew longer and longer he was switched to hurdles, and it was the hurdles he loved. In a way, he thought, as he finished his stretches; it was a little bit like flying.

He began to run. Pacing himself, still stretching out his legs, testing his breathing, blanking out his mind. Seeking the headspace that running and good sex both gave him – where he was no longer Will Riker, where his demons no longer howled to be let out and do the damage they wanted to do, where he was simply a living body doing what bodies did. He picked up his pace, the act of running as familiar as putting on his uniform in the morning, and he felt his arms pumping and his breathing leveling out and then he was gone, flying around the track; no memories, no thoughts, no feelings.

He came down off his run slowly, making sure he was still breathing properly, and walked over to the replicator for a container of water that he could drink while he did one more lap, walking this time, making sure he went through his cool down. When he was finished with the last lap, he tossed the container in the receptacle and headed into the locker room for a shower. He stripped down and grabbed his towel and his shampoo and walked into the showers. There were communal showers and then there were private ones; if the room were crowded, he usually headed for a private one, figuring no one really wanted to see that much of the First Officer, but since there was no one around, he turned on the nearest shower head and soaped up.

He was washing his hair when he realised that someone had walked in. He didn't turn around.

Bledsoe started the shower next to him and said, "You run like a runner, Commander. Relay?"

He rinsed his head and turned the shower off. "Hurdles."

Bledsoe glanced downwards. "With those legs, yeah," he said. "At the Academy?"

He picked up his towel. "For the first year," he answered. "Then band practise got in the way." He wrapped the towel around his waist. "I didn't see you in there."

"Came in after you were already on the track," Bledsoe answered. "It's Griff, by the way," he said. "I won't offer you my hand, since you're already dry."

"Will," he answered. He avoided looking at Bledsoe – Griff – and turned to walk out.

"Join me for a drink, after?" Bledsoe said. He'd finished and was drying himself off.

Will turned around. He could still, if he thought about it, feel the tingling in his hand. "Are you picking me up?" he asked.

Bledsoe grinned. "We're the same rank, Commander," he replied.

"I'm the First Officer of this ship," Will said. He was not grinning; not yet, anyway.

"Does that mean I have to wait until you pick me up, then?" Bledsoe asked, wrapping his towel around his own waist. He walked toward Will. "Because I heard that wasn't likely to happen."

"Oh? What did you hear?" He was genuinely curious.

"Oh – I heard you play," Bledsoe said. "Just not with boys."

"If you heard that, why are you here?"

"Because I know what I felt, when we shook hands," Bledsoe said, standing close to Will, close enough to touch. "And I know you felt it too. So either you're very good at hiding whom you play with – " Bledsoe traced his hand down Will's chest "—or you haven't played with boys in a long time. Either way, it's worth the asking."

"What makes you think I'll say yes?" He was still curious. "Given that I probably haven't played with boys, as you say, in a long time."

Bledsoe shrugged. "You're under no obligation to," he answered. "I'm sure you have your reasons, Commander. But what's under your towel has other ideas."

He wasn't sporting an erection – not yet – but there'd been some movement. He could even now still feel the tingling in his hand. "You're not human?" he asked.

"Half human, half Betazoid," Bledsoe answered. "How did you know that?"

"You've only been here this one day," Will replied. "You don't know anything about me, or about this ship."

"I did a little research," Bledsoe corrected. "It's what us folks in xenobiology do best."

"Then you'll know we have Counsellor Deanna Troi aboard," he said.

"Ah." Bledsoe breathed out. "And the two of you are together?"

"No," Will said, quickly. "We were, once. Years ago. I'm just very familiar with Betazoids."

"Then the question stands – Will. Drinks?"

He could feel the familiar ache in his groin. It was his bond to Deanna that had reacted to Bledsoe's touch, he was sure of it. If he had sex with Bledsoe, how much of it would he actually be able to keep from her?

"Worried about your shields?" Bledsoe asked.

He was startled – and then he grinned. "Not a bit, Commander," he answered. "And do you want to drink? Or do you want to fuck? Because often the two are mutually exclusive."

"There's a massage room, Commander," Bledsoe observed. "With a door."

"And are you good at that?" Will asked. He was beginning to enjoy this. "Giving a massage?"

"It depends," Bledsoe said, "on where you want the massage, and with what."

Well, that was interesting. Was there some tell that had suggested, when he had sex with a man, he often preferred to bottom?

"As long as there's plenty of oil," he answered, "since it's been some time."

"I'll make sure of it," Bledsoe said, and he wrapped his hand – as large as Will's own – around Will's head and kissed him.


End file.
